


she’s my kind of rain

by joisattempting



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bus Stops, F/M, First Meetings, I hate it here, I’m very sorry, Katara is mentioned, RAINSTORMS, also zuko, i could have done this way better, i love suki sm :)))), my page is a suki stan account, sokka is awkward, the kyoshi warriors are a fencing team, this entire thing is so cringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisattempting/pseuds/joisattempting
Summary: sokka meets someone at a bus stop with a leaky roof when he gets stuck in a flash rainstorm.written to fulfil the prompt “we both got caught in a flash rainstorm, and now we’re stuck hiding under a very cramped bus stop with a leaky roof”.
Relationships: Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	she’s my kind of rain

**Author's Note:**

> two posts in one day? who is this and what have they done with jo 👀
> 
> anyway, this is for my best friend helen, whose birthday was in december. happy belated birthday bitch (nice alliteration there wowow), sorry for the cringe and the shit writing and, perhaps most importantly, the fact that this is two months late oops
> 
> to anyone reading this, you’ll have to forgive me for my characterisation, i’ve never written for atla before and i’m just trying to get a feel for the characters as of rn :) thanks for understanding, and i hope this isn’t too bad?
> 
> tw: mentions of family deaths

Always double-knot your shoelaces. That had been Katara’s daily sliver of advice to her brother from that very morning, administered as she scuttled about their shared apartment in the indigo dressing gown, patterned with hues of green and deep purple, that she was very rarely seen in absence of. She’d been in the midst of throwing together her usual breakfast of avocado toast accompanied by a poached egg (the quality of which differed each time she made them) that sat primly atop its green bed. It looked almost comical when compared to Sokka’s highly-nutritious choice of Lucky Charms and the kind of chocolate milk one could make using a powder. Although, it wasn’t mixed all too skilfully, and his complacency left a handful of bothersome granules of powder at the top of the clumsily-made drink. In the bemused eyes of anyone that wasn’t Katara, the robe appeared to be a second skin to the girl despite her countless protests suggesting the contrary. Pre-medicine was her selected university major, and thus large portions of her time were spent either in her bedroom or in various unpredictable locations around the flat, poring over textbooks with more words crammed onto the worn pages than most would ever know throughout the course of their entire lifetime. 

The pair had never exactly been the best of friends throughout their early childhood; Sokka’s giggly, infantile younger self had thought it eminently amusing to kick down the girl’s structures she’d fashioned out of building blocks, with immense concentration for a child of her age, or (albeit with some difficulty due to his meager child height) hurl her hole-riddled foam ball over the garden fence and into the neighbour’s pristine backyard. In retaliation, the girl would dismantle his elaborate racecar tracks that snaked across the house in complex twists and turns, chuckling with triumph as she darted into her bedroom to avoid his angry pursuit of her. But the tragic death of the kids’ mother subdued the house’s rowdy ambience and, rather than squabbling and screaming and vandalising one another’s belongings, Sokka and Katara elected to keep out of the way and play quietly together, so as to relieve the stress of keeping them in line from their grieving father. From that day forward, their relationship strengthened, and the pair stuck together as time ticked by and they grew taller and older. Petty fights were resolved with each one slamming their respective doors shut and remaining in states of heated frustration until they either forgot the subject of their quarrel or one of them initiated an apology. 

Alas, that wasn’t the point. The bottom line was, Sokka never felt the overwhelming need to adhere to his younger sister’s words of wisdom, if her daily counsel could even be labelled as such. Nine times out of ten, it was most likely that an instance on which the implementation of said guidance would be necessary or helpful would never come about, and he liked to ensure Katara’s awareness of his stance on the matter every day, as he shoved the last of his cereal down his throat and unceremoniously dumped his chocolate milk into a Thermos for easy and portable sipping, purposefully ignoring the girl’s muffled snickers as he did so. His cynicism worked in his favour most of the time, but he made a mental note to heed Katara’s advice from there on out. 

Because if he had, it was highly likely he wouldn’t be sitting dumbfounded on the pavement with a smarting backside, drenched with rain, somberly watching as the last bus back from his university trundled down the sodden road, great plumes of exhaust billowing out of the tailpipe. 

Believe it or not, there was an extremely valid and understandable reason that resulted in his missing of the bus - the one that was scheduled to leave his stop two hours after he had repeatedly promised Katara, after she’d grilled him incessantly on it for five minutes as he pulled a jumper over his head and shoved his arms into his aged and weather-stained peacoat, to have returned to the apartment with some form of takeaway. A casual game of thumb war had somehow begun between him and the quiet boy with the peculiar raspy voice that sat next to him, and, don’t ask him how, but by the end of class it had spiraled into a passionate battle to the death. Every student there had been watching. They stared in silence, every pair of eyes swimming with tears from having not blinked out of fear of missing a crucial moment. Even the professor, if he recalled correctly, stayed behind after the lecture’s arranged conclusion. None of them had kept an eye on the time, and thus here he was, sitting on the sidewalk as rained pattered loudly against windowpanes and awnings and roads. Better yet, he had no ride home. 

He fished his phone from his pocket, utilising every ounce of his strength and might to not thrust it at the floor upon discovery that he’d forgotten to charge it the night before, and it had therefore died whilst he was in class. In all honesty, some part of him was relieved of his device’s temporary inability to function - had it been charged, it would likely be blowing up with frustrated, yet unsurprised text messages from Katara, demanding his location and the amount of time he would require in order to get back. Late returns were common on his part, but he was nearly always kicking his shoes off and voicing his complaints about a range of topics, from homework or a classmate to the professor’s outlandish choice of sock, no later than an hour after lessons had concluded. The girl was probably readying herself to call all three emergency services at this point. 

Squinting through the thick sheets of rain, Sokka could just about distinguish the familiar dingy bus stop amidst the dense clusters of grey fog, the one he customarily waited at for his usual lift home. It was notorious among the community for its seats, slathered haphazardly with chipping red paint, and leaky roof that dripped mysterious, unwelcome liquid on the head of anyone who dared stand underneath it, whether they be aware of its unrectified issue or not. Desperate, chilled to the bone, and now beginning to sneeze, he trudged across the slippery road and onto the opposite pavement, wary of where he placed his feet so as to not go plummeting to the ground. He didn’t need an injury on top of that night’s other misfortunes. 

She sat perched on a seat around a metre or so away from him, glaring annoyedly at her reflection in a compact mirror, her hands trembling with cold beneath fingerless gloves. They were patterned with frolicsome stripes of orange and green, playfully wavering this way and that across the latitude of her palms. Each bony digit, protruding from the gloves like gangling, jade-coloured fronds of grass from well-kept soil, was caked with a peculiar black substance that derived from, or so Sokka assumed, the motorcycle that was currently parked beside her. 

It was one of a measurable degree of grandeur and magnificence - the scarlet Moped with the ebony helmet hanging from the handlebars, with a carefree liberty that he somewhat envied, was most certainly a vehicle that would have enthralled the boy in his youth. A bag, screenprinted with white letters that Sokka was unable to read from the angle at which he was sitting, stood in the place where one’s feet were supposed to be place. Visible at the the top, where the zipper to close the bag remained open, were three… golf clubs? Fishing rods? He wasn’t entirely certain. 

Vigorously, she scrubbed at her face with what appeared to be a soiled makeup wipe, its original colour hardly visible underneath the masses of product that had previously decorated her features. Despite this, her skin was remarkably clear. Her hair was auburn, chopped just underneath her sharp jawline, and she’d clipped her bangs from her eyes to keep them from her face. 

A juniper duffel bag lay limply at her feet, its contents spilling out onto the drenched pavement. They appeared, primarily, to be articles of clothing. The girl was probably returning from a class, or a night with friends. Whatever girls did in their spare time. 

She was aware of his indiscreet stares, and turned to face him, her features contorted into a confrontational scowl. Sokka’s eyes flickered down to her sweatshirt, the fabric embroidered with nondescript lettering.  _ Kyoshi Warriors Fencing.  _

Mildly terrified, Sokka craned his neck in order to distinguish the letters printed on the bag with the golf clubs. To his surprise, they read the same words. 

“Do you want something?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow. “You’re being a creep,”

“What? No- uh, why would I-” he sputtered, instinctively tugging on his ponytail and averting his gaze to her shoes. Black lace-up combat boots. The leather was scuffed and fraying; she’d likely owned the shoes for a lengthy period of time. Double-knotted, too. The neat laces seemed to serve as a reminder of Sokka’s own stupidity. “You’re a Kyoshi Warrior,”

“And you have big ears,” she said, without missing a beat. “Are we just going to sit here and tell each other things we already know?”

For a fleeting moment, Sokka was quiet, rubbing the back of his neck as the incessant noise of the heavy rain pattering relentlessly onto the pavement droned on. “Sorry for staring,” he said reluctantly, like a child being forced to apologise to someone despite not fully understanding the circumstances or grounds on which an apology was required. 

“It’s fine,” the girl relented with a small smile, pulling at a loose thread on her glove. “I’m Suki,”

“Sokka,” the boy offered in return, mulling her name over in his mind. It was rather beautiful in his opinion. Dainty, although the girl that sat beside him appeared anything but. “Did you miss the bus too?”

“Nope. My motorbike broke down on the way back from practice. The last bus had already left by then. I tried to figure out what was up with it, but no dice,” she explained with a defeated sigh, holding out her blackened fingers as evidence. 

Suddenly, Sokka’s eyes widened. It was as though a lightbulb had appeared above his head. His mouth worked its way into an easy, artful smile, and he tried his hardest not to throw subtlety to the wind as he puffed out his chest. An opportunity to impress the girl he’d just met had arisen, and he wasn’t about to pass it up. “Maybe I could take a look at it? I know a little about motorcycles,”

Suki folded her arms, slipping her compact mirror into her pocket. Either Sokka’s eyes deceived him, or she didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Be my guest,” she shrugged, and laughed when the boy hesitated. “I bet you know as much about motorbikes as I do painting,”

“Do you… do you know a lot about painting, by any chance?”

“Not a thing,”

They dissolved into bouts of quiet chuckles then, that amplified gradually into a crescendo of tinkling laughter that drowned out the sounds of the rain almost completely. Just for a moment the pair were able to forget the sobering fact that they were stranded, alone together, in a rainstorm with nothing but fencing equipment, Sokka’s school supplies, and a broken-down motorcycle. 

Neither were all too sure how to while away the hours, as their current situation was not one they were familiar with, nor was it a circumstance that they found themselves tangled in on numerous occasions. They decided to amuse themselves by playing a few rounds of Charades, a game at which, both promptly discovered, the other was exceedingly incompetent at. Sokka’s friends had always, albeit good-naturedly, jeered at him for his Charades skills, or lack thereof, and so it was refreshing to be acquainted with somebody who shared his ineptitude, rather than poked fun at it. Other than Charades, the pair were enthused to discover that they shared a multitude of interests, and were able to establish common ground relatively speedily as they chattered about films and comic books and the Indian restaurant by the fencing training centre that they ordered takeaways from too often for it to be considered healthy, the forgotten rain droning on in the background like a broken vinyl record. 

Sokka shifted closer. Suki didn’t seem to mind. “Do you wear a full face to practice? You kinda slaughtered that makeup wipe,” 

“God, yeah. She’s gone. There’s no life left in her. You know how I know?” she waved the dirty towelette under the boy’s bulbous nose. He scrunched up his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s drier than the fucking Sahara. I couldn’t get the rest of this foundation off if I tried,”

In Sokka’s attempt to distance himself from the offending makeup wipe, he instinctively scooted backwards. An uncalculated move on his part, because within five seconds he found himself staring up at the leaking roof as peculiar white liquid dripped onto his face. 

“Fuck!”

Suki was rocking back and forth on the rickety bus seat, the only noise coming from her mouth being intermittent wheezing noises that concerned the boy as to whether or not she was experiencing difficulty breathing. “Shut up, it isn’t like you haven’t been pooped on by the bus stop before,” he grumbled, touching the unknown liquid with wet fingers. 

“What even  _ is  _ that?”

“Beats me,” he shrugged, sniffing his fingers. “Would I die if I ate this?”

Devilishly, the girl grinned, absently twirling the strings of her hoodie around her blackened fingers. “Only one way to find out,”

“See, I’d rather not? Appreciate the offer, though,”

“Here, try wiping it off with this. It’s not one of those hair sinks you get at the salon, but I guess it’s better to have eyeliner in your hair than the next undiscovered Periodic Table element. Besides, if it doesn’t get all of it out, the rain probably will,” Suki shook a few rogue wisps of sopping hair from her cobalt eyes, holding out the makeup wipe in the boy’s general direction. He took it gratefully, scooping the dripping ivory liquid from the crown of his head and the rough, split brown ends of his ponytail that were in desperate, crying need of a trim. 

“You’re a fucking genius, you know that? Big brain shit,”

“Yes, I’m aware,” 

Throughout the entirety of the measly few minutes he was able to call himself acquainted with Suki, he’d never realised how mesmerising her eyes were. To him, their colour resembled the beach he and his family would drive the excruciating five hours to every summer, his plight exacerbated by the fact that his younger self was forced to share the backseat with an excitable Katara, who badgered their parents with questions and queries and musings about the seaside. Sokka remembered the cobalt waves more vividly than nearly anything else, and his fascination and curiosity about what lay beneath the water’s rippling surface. He remembered going boogie-boarding with his mother and teaming up with her against Katara and his father in an intense contest that would ultimately declare one team the sandcastle-building champion. He liked looking into Suki’s eyes. They made him think of better times, times long washed away by the tide in his head. 

“I’m gonna take a look at the motorbike again, see if we can get her up and running,” Suki announced, pulling the boy back to reality. “Want a ride home?”

His first instinct was to refuse, to assure her he’d manage alone in the screaming downpour. But he knew he’d be lying through his teeth if he said as much, and so did she. “Yeah, that’d be great,” he said instead, and offered her the most convincing smile he could muster. The knots in his stomach loosened when she grinned back, her seaside eyes crinkling at the corners when she did. 

Suki came away from the scarlet vehicle several minutes later, her fingers somehow blacker than they had been previously. Another noise accompanied the rain, and Sokka could have kissed her right there and then. The soft patter of the bike’s engine was easily one of the most relieving sounds he’d ever heard. 

“Hop on,” she said, her helmet’s buckle clicking into place as she swung one leg over the side. On distinguishing his hesitation, she chuckled. “Unless you’re scared and you want to, I don’t know, get an Uber instead,”

An Uber probably would’ve been an ideal plan. However, his phone was no longer in the land of the living. Suki’s bike was the only viable option left. “I’m not scared! Fine, I’ll get on. But you’ve gotta promise not to go fast,” he mumbled, sitting himself down behind her and gripping her waist for dear life as she gripped the handlebars, too petrified to consider that their current position had the potential to be rather romantic if she desired to move in that direction. 

“Trust me, I’ll go real slow. I promise,”

She did not keep her promise, however, and Sokka was certain they’d awoken every resident of every neighbourhood and street they sped through, from both his screaming and her laughter. Some cabbage vendor had even began chasing after them at one point, shrieking profanities at the pair as they swerved around rolling cabbages like they’d somehow winded up in a real-world game of Mario Kart. By the time Suki calmly pulled to a stop in front of his apartment complex on his silent street, it was hard to believe that any of the prior chaos had even took place.

“That’s me. Thanks, Suki,” he muttered, sliding off the seat and wincing as he unfolded his sore, cramped arms from around the girl’s torso. “Getting stranded today… wasn’t half bad. Not because my phone died out of my own incapability of making smart decisions, or the goddamn rain. I didn’t pay attention to any of that ‘cause you were there. I wouldn’t mind getting into urgent situations again, as long as I’m not alone,” he winced at his own voice, staring embarrassedly at his shoes and tugging on his ponytail, only looking up with astonishment when she produced a pen from the depths of her duffel bag and scribbled out a set of numbers on his forearm. 

“Get inside, it’ll wash out in the rain soon,” was all she said, and Sokka could her the smile in her voice. “See you around, poop boy,”

Before Sokka could formulate a retort towards her interesting choice of nickname, the crimson Moped’s engine revved and Suki, the Kyoshi Warrior whose makeup was never entirely removed and who was just as incompetent at Charades as he was, was nowhere to be found. 

Boy, did he have a story for Katara once he got upstairs. 

  
  


_ fin.  _

  
  



End file.
